


Slow Burn

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Strong Tokoha And Shion Presence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: This is the last thing you ever wanted to know about Kouji Ibuki, and Kouji Ibuki is about the last person you'd have wanted to know this about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was pretty much dared to do this, but as usual, if I'm doing something, I can't not do it completely seriously and with the best of my efforts. So, uh, here you have it.  
> (Please don't expect this to be steamy, there might be ONE sex scene at the end (that I added the underage tag for just in case) but it'll come after a LOT of development.)  
> Details on how the universe work should hopefully become obvious through the fic itself, but feel free to ask for clarification if you actually care. And on that note, here's some content warnings for, well, Ibuki's trauma, a general sense of unease steeped from rape culture (and how that interacts with said trauma), and a take on abo that includes (but isn't limited to) some hermaphroditic genital configurations.
> 
> Yes, the title is a Heat joke. I never said it was good.

**Chrono**

The more your body informs you that you are, indeed, alpha, an outcome which was fairly probable but not guaranteed, the more you think that puberty is a scam.  
You've already gone through it once. Breaking voice that took forever to really stabilise because you talk so little, dropping quickly but staying rough for years. A fake growth spurt that stopped as abruptly as it started and has been crawling ever since. Sudden bursts of hormones with no actual target, sudden growth of body hair… you dealt with it in silence because you didn't want to bother your aunt with your questions and insecurities, but it was still a rough two years. And now, when you thought you were done, when you've been done for a while, you have to deal with it all over again.  
It's not fair. When you're trying to be objective and honest, you _know_ that the alternative is far worse and that those who get hit with a double dose at once have it worse than you do, but it still sucks, and the moodiness that comes with hormonal changes isn't ideal for impartial thinking.  
(Really, the one you should be jealous of is Shion, who's probably _done_ aside from his height that never seems to stop rising, but you don't like being jealous of Shion for whatever reason.)  
Honestly, you don't know which is worse. Randomly sensing the pheromones other people give off, with no control over when, or sensing them non-stop, like you will in the future. As awkward as the randomness is, maybe it's preferable to having no escape from it. Right now, though, you wish your senses had chosen a different moment to wake, because you're trying to _focus_ , and talking publicly has never been your strong point, and you can't think straight if you keep getting distracted because some stupid primal part of your brain keeps jumping to attention because something in the air reached your nose.  
You. Hate. Puberty.  
“What would you say has been the hardest G Quest so far?” the journalist asks, her smile pristine, unperturbed by the resting grouch face you _know_ has to be even worse than usual right now.  
You're all gathered at the main branch, for a buffet lunch event that Shion seems totally at ease with but makes you feel horribly out of place, casual dress code or no, with representatives from each branch, a handful of journalists, and every team that's reached 40 points or above, two weeks away from the end of the G Quest. There's only about ten teams, and from the little you've gathered from conversations you mostly listened to without participating, at least half of them have left Star Gate Branch for last.  
You don't blame them.  
Tokoha, to your relief, wastes no time in answering.  
“Zoo.”  
“Is that so? I hear Christopher Lo is a formidable opponent. You could say that challenging the branch on a week where he was present was a stroke of bad luck. Or maybe destiny?”  
“Oh, no, not him,” Tokoha answers with a dismissive gesture of her hand that you think might come back to haunt her someday. “I mean the whole Vangamen thing. Seriously, who came up with that idea?”  
The journalist's laugh is as perfect as her smile. You focus on it to keep yourself distracted and pray that she'll move on to another team soon.  
Maybe it'd be easier if you at least knew where the scent is coming from, but on the other hand, you don't want to know.  
“You did look very heroic,” she says brightly, and you're trying to decide whether it's supposed to be a jab or a genuine compliment when she turns to you. “What about you, Mr. Shindou?”  
“Uh.”  
You blink, caught frozen in the middle of your thoughts. But you have to answer, or she won't leave you alone.  
_The hardest G Quest..._  
The _easy_ answer would be United Sanctuary. It's still fresh, it fits the narrative of going against gradually stronger opponents, and your fight against Ren Suzugamori was a clash so intense that you sometimes still get shivers thinking about it.  
The _truthful_ answer, however, is something you don't want to say here, because your opponent is present, and you're not sure you want to give him the satisfaction of hearing that he had you on the ropes.  
(He did. As much as you'd grabbed control of the flow of he fight and of his emotions, his skill and stupid overwhelming luck had pushed you into gamble after gamble. If you hadn't pulled that long-awaited heal trigger, all your lecturing might have fallen flat.  
Such is Vanguard.)  
… unfortunately, you're terrible at lying.  
“… Star Gate,” you admit, talking as evenly as you can so you won't look sullen. Looking _petty_ is definitely not something you want to give him satisfaction for.  
“It's true many teams haven't yet challenged it,” she answers with a laugh. “I have to admit, when the rules of the quest were announced, we all had some doubts, but it seems the Star Gate Branch Chief knew the true worth of his fighters.”  
“Not letting everyone in the team fight was unfair, though,” Tokoha points out, huffing a little.  
“You made up for that by crushing two thirds of Unisan's team,” you point out, trying to lift your own mood while your eyes wander. You can't help but wonder if he heard you—well, it doesn't really matter if this is published anyway, but…  
There. Not very far away from you, close enough to hear, definitely, but he seems to be talking to someone else, so maybe you're safe. He seems to be holding himself a little differently than usual, though, the straightness of his back less strict and more open, and—  
As your eyes drift to his face, the scent hits you again, full force, coming from the exact direction you're staring, and the first thought that goes through your mind is: _what._  
And then. _Wait._  
Your head spins, and only half of it is the pheromones themselves. _No._  
Tokoha shoots you a look. You quickly look back to the other side, trying your hardest to ignore the epiphany that just hit you, scrape it from your mind altogether. But no matter how hard you try, when you're finally freed from the journalist's questions and free to move and look wherever you want, the obvious truth becomes impossible to dismiss.  
The person who's been distracting you almost from the very start of this event with their frankly teenager-level of pheromones is none other than Kouji Ibuki.

You don't know what to do with this information. Mostly, you wish you could forget it, because this is the last thing you ever wanted to know about Kouji Ibuki, and Kouji Ibuki is about the last person you'd have wanted to know this about aside from, like, Kanzaki.  
It's not like people's status is a well kept secret in most cases; a lot of them are fully public about it, although most of _those_ are beta, honestly, and it's usually something people who know you well will be aware of—and, if you're a celebrity, it usually comes out eventually whether you want it or not. Someone will sense it and tell; minority or not, there's still enough of you to go around. But finding out firsthand what kind of sexual roles people are predisposed for, finding out firsthand that someone is in _heat_ , that's a whole other level of awkward and uncomfortably intimate that you'll never get used to, and you don't like the way it will jump out to you even if you try to ignore it, even if it's completely at odds with the image they try to give.  
(What must it be like, you sometimes wonder, to be on the other side? To know that people, _strangers_ will be able to sense that about you, will know things about you that you might never have wanted them to know? To know that some will blame you for it, even, as if you were personally baiting them with a basic biological function that you can't even control? To know that if they get violent, someone somewhere will blame _their_ own biology for it, and absolve them of responsibility?  
The reminder ties a knot in your stomach, and what moody exasperation had festered into you for the last hour dissolves. No matter how awkward it is for you, it's not exactly his fault.)  
Hiding behind a glass of juice, your eyes find him again. You have to hand it to him, his facade is impeccable. Either he simply hasn't noticed (and what are the chances of _that_ ), or his poker face is on a whole other level. Aside from the slight shift in the way he holds himself (and you can't believe you _noticed_ that. It has to be the pheromones), there isn't a single trace on his face of the discomfort or urgency or blushing or even dreaminess that you've sometimes seen on other people. It's only when you catch him sliding his hand under his hair and lifting it back a little before letting it drop, as if to air out his nape, that you're fully convinced that something _is_ actually going on. You've fanned Kumi enough times to catch on to _that_ tell, at least.  
Well. It's none of your business. As awkward as knowing Ibuki is— _augh_ —in heat might be, it's not the first time you find out something similar and it won't be the last time. What they might or might not do in bed later that day has nothing to do with you, so you really should focus on something else.  
At least now that you know where it's coming from, the scent is somewhat easier to ignore. A little.  
You really hope it gets easier with experience.

Fortunately, the food is good enough to count as a distraction, and, predictably, in a room packed with Vanguard players, it doesn't take long after the end of the interviews proper for fights to pop to life left and right as the members of various teams decide to test their skills against each other—or to seize a rare chance to fight a high ranking Association official. Tokoha has grabbed the Dragon Empire Branch Chief (who, unsusprisingly, has left Mamoru in charge of the Branch proper to come to the party instead), and their fight is already gathering an audience. A small plate of food in hand, you idly watch a boy from another team get curbstomped by Asaka Narumi, who seems to be much more aggressive when she's not deliberately saving her resources for someone else. You make a mental note not to underestimate Pale Moon players in general, and start detailing her strategies; it'll come in handy when you challenge the Dark Zone branch.  
Much too quickly, though, your mind drifts not to the G Quest itself, but to what lies beyond. You know you shouldn't get distracted when its success relies on the G Quest itself, but the fight against Myoujin is occupying your mind more and more.  
Everything feels so normal, so mundane. And yet, somewhere, someone is dragging units out of their world and enslaving them. Somewhere, the man responsible for your father's death is plotting something bigger.  
You wonder if you could actually risk your life, and find with empty certainty that you absolutely could. You don't think you would hesitate much. Now that you have friends, now that you're all too aware of how scared Mikuru is to lose you, that trait gives you pause.  
You're not sure you're entirely comfortable with it.  
But what else is there? How do you grow into someone different? If it was that easy, a lot of people would do it.  
_I'll just have to try and remember._ At least, not hurting people you care about is a good incentive.  
Sighing, you find yourself looking for Ibuki again. Things would be easier if the man actually learned to _communicate_. He's made progress, but you're sure he's still hiding plenty, and not just about his 'mission'. Like his own reasons for getting involved in all of this, for starters.  
You find him, still talking to one of the journalists. The guy's unusually close, smiling in a way that almost reminds you of Shinonome. Ibuki gives him a couple of short answers, nods, and moves away, and you don't blame him.  
But as you're wondering whether to actually talk to him or not (it's not like you can discuss taking down the former president of the Association in public at an Association-sponsored event, even you have more tact than that), the journalist catches your eye again, and this time his eyes make your skin crawl.  
Maybe you're just imagining it. You're not exactly good at big social stuff. But on the other hand, you _are_ pretty decent at reading people, or you like to think, anyway, and the vibe that man gives off is outright predatory. It's—chilling. Calculating. You don't like it one bit.  
And then Ibuki sighs a little, pushing some hair behind his ear, and the guy smiles from where he's watching, and it all clicks.  
_Well, shit._  
Forget awkward, this is making you uncomfortable as hell. But no matter how much you try to tell yourself that it's none of your business what Ibuki does with his life… you can't shake the sick feeling that this has less to do with what he'd want to do with his life, and more to do with what that guy wants to do with it. Because—he hasn't noticed. You thought he had when he escaped that conversation, but now you look at it, it's like he just didn't want to talk, and is blind to the eyes trailed on his back, on his hair.  
You don't think he's that good an actor. If _you_ can see through a lot of him, others can. He wouldn't be that good at pretending not to notice.  
Your decision is taken before you've even asked yourself the question consciously. You take a few steps towards him. If he knew and you're just getting in the way, well. He can just brush you off.  
“Ibuki!”  
His eyes widen slightly at your voice and he turns towards you immediately, straightening further. Now that you're paying attention, there's definitely something different, an intensity to his eyes that you've never seen before. They seem hooked onto you, dark and deep, and yeah, that must be a hell of a thing to experience in a different context.  
(What the _hell_ are you thinking? You hate puberty.)  
He stares at you questioningly, and you almost kick yourself, or him, or both, for not being good at conversations. Seriously, can't he just say 'yes' or 'hello'? Something.  
Thankfully, you have the perfect solution.  
“Want to get your revenge for last time?” you ask, pulling out your deck.  
His eyes widen.  
“I have to…” He trails off. “… all right.”  
You smile.  
“I won't go easy on you,” he warns, taking out his own deck.  
“Like you ever would. Don't pretend you were doing it last time, that's a weak excuse.”  
To your surprise, he smiles back.  
“I didn't. Let's see how you fare this time.”

You fight. That, at least, feels natural, and before long, you're actually having fun, easing into a different kind of tension. It's hard to focus on hormones when you can feel _this_ kind of excitement, and you quickly start to relax, to pour yourself into it fully, to grin in earnest. And you're the one who almost gets him this time, but then he survives with an empty hand thanks to a damaged draw trigger, and wrecks you in the next turn, which, considering how your last fight went, is honestly fair.  
By the time you're done, things around you are wrapping up, and you start packing your deck back with relief that probably shows on your face.  
“It was a good fight,” Ibuki says, coming closer. His voice is a little softer than usual; you don't know whether it's because of—this—or if he's changed his way of approaching you after what you talked about after that last fight. Either way it's strange and makes you a little flustered—but _that_ could also just be a reaction to today. You're frankly _done_ with today.  
“Thanks. Still got some work to do until I can beat you reliably, huh?”  
He chuckles.  
“Don't underestimate me.”  
Quickly, you take a look around. The guy's still hovering somewhere near, looking a little annoyed.  
… today is just going to get weirder and weirder, isn't it.  
“… want to get a coffee after this? I need to talk to you.” And before he can ask what on Earth you're thinking, you add: “About, uh. The—the stuff we talked about the other time.”  
You're still terrible at lying. But at least if you're implying it's about Plan G, then maybe he'll actually listen. And to your relief, he does.  
“… I need to work out something with the other representatives. Wait for me.”  
You nod, then go warn Shion and Tokoha, who've been staring at you with incredulous expressions.

You leave with him. He actually takes time to warn some of the staff members, and you remember suddenly that the main branch _is_ his home turf, technically, and that he might have had something else to go back to. Still, whether you made the situation even more awkward or not, he did follow you, and is walking at your side, as if waiting for you to say something.  
You nervously look behind you. It doesn't look like anyone's actually followed.  
“What did you need to talk about?” he asks. “We shouldn't be talking like this; I'm not supposed to favour a candidate over another. It's suspicious.”  
“You kinda crossed that bridge when you started picking on me when I came to fight you at Star Gate Branch,” you point out. “Anyway, let's make sure no one's behind us and just… find a vending machine or something.”  
He raises an eyebrow.  
“… what?”  
“I thought you meant an actual café.”  
“I mean, we _can_ , but I thought you were on a schedule—I just needed an excuse to get you out of there.”  
He frowns. You walk a little faster, and finally spot a vending machine. The small grassy area next to it is deserted, and there's a bench and a tree; a good spot to talk without being overheard, hopefully.  
To your relief, he does sit on the bench when you tell him to, and waits in silence as you press coins into the machine, hands a little shaky. You grab the warm cans and hand him one, hesitating before sitting next to him, leaving some distance between you.  
“… what is this about?” he asks as you take your first gulp of coffee.  
“I…” This is where you feel incredibly stupid. But at the same time, having him with _you_ now and not somewhere you can't reach with that guy maybe still creeping on him feels… safer. Satisfying. Like a victory of sorts. Maybe you'll make a fool of yourself, but you don't regret it. “… that guy was creeping on you. I didn't know whether you'd noticed, so I thought… if you _did_ notice and you were letting him on purpose, you'd just brush me off if I showed up with a lame excuse.”  
Ibuki blinks.  
“'That guy'?”  
“The journalist you were talking to earlier. He caught on.”  
His eyes stay fixed on you, uncomprehending. You hold back a whimpering, embarrassed groan.  
There's just no way to have this conversation. No way except forward. You'll just have to blurt it.  
“Look—this is so awkward but—are you. Are you aware you're in heat?”  
The last words come out fast and even, too clinical to be real, but they're out at least. And he blinks again, at first, as if the words refused to reach his brain, but then his eyes widen in shock.  
And what slides onto his face is the kind of horror that no horror movie actor could hope to reproduce.  
He doesn't just look pale. Or shocked. He looks like he's about to be _sick_.  
“… sorry,” you blurt quietly. “I didn't know how else to tell you—I thought it was weird you wouldn't have known, but if you didn't notice how he was acting…”  
He presses a hand to his mouth, looking away. You can tell he's trying to camouflage it as something else, but it's definitely nausea, the kind of nausea that comes when your throat is too tight, when something's jammed. And then he removes it, biting his lips instead.  
“… I'm sorry,” he says. “You shouldn't have seen that.”  
“Huh?”  
“I… I didn't think it would come now. I apologise for the sorry display.”  
“Hey, it's not like you can help it. It was just—awkward."  
He's still not looking at you. Instead, his eyes stay on the ground in front of him, his lips tight and his face pale and frowning. You almost want to squeeze his shoulder.  
“… he didn't follow us,” you add, quietly, “so it's probably fine. I don't think he'd really try anything once I got in his way, anyway. He probably needed to get you alone.”  
He nods, silently.  
“… you don't seem surprised that I sensed it,” you say, quietly. Maybe that'll lighten the conversation a little. Maybe.  
He shakes his head, and looks a little further away, before meeting your eyes again.  
“I was aware. … I'm sorry.”  
You smile a little, almost chuckling.  
“I kinda should've expected it.”  
He gives you an almost imperceptible nod, before looking away again, face tensing with what looks like another wave of nausea.  
“… I have to go. Thank you for warning me.”  
“H-huh?”  
He's already standing.  
“H-hey! Your coffee!”  
“You can keep it.”  
And before you can say more, he's left, almost at a run.

 

(“Oh, yeah, I felt it,” Tokoha casually tells you once she and Shion get the truth out of you the next day.  
You didn't want to talk about it, but you're _terrible_ at lying. And it's not like the most critical information wasn't already public to those who were present anyway—well, if they're also alpha.  
“What!?”  
“Well, what did you expect? I can't turn this off whenever I want the way _you_ do! I just deal with it and erase it from my mind, because I for one don't want to think about what that guy does in bed. Or anyone else, really.”  
“I can't _turn it off_ either,” you grumble.  
“Did you not notice before?” Shion asks, curious.  
She shakes her head.  
“But then, it's not like I've been in close quarters with him a lot. It wouldn't be hard to miss. We just ran into him at the wrong moments. Or the right moments, really.”  
“Hmm… I guess that sense is less useful than I thought, then.”  
“What do you mean, 'useful'!?”)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Save Ibuki Kouji

**Ibuki**

The words, out of Chrono's mouth, throw your world out of axis like a record scratching and jamming out of place, hiccuping at an angle as the player stubbornly tries to read it.  
Three years. It's been three years since you've had to think about it, three years since you shoved the issue down with every one of your other mangled memories and put it behind you. Your doctor, when you still went to see her, called it 'worrying,' a sign of overall bad health. To you, it was liberation.  
You had forgotten. Over the three years of reconstructing yourself from incomplete, unmatching pieces, you'd forgotten that part of your body, that aspect of your experience, that factor in the violence directed at you. You had a new life now. A mission. Who cared about awkward body things that you associated with puberty and danger and little else?  
Now, having it brought back into your life feels like it's thrown you into a parallel dimension, where none of the last three years happened.  
You want to throw up.  
It's the clawing sensation of unreality. It's the fear, returning. It's the sudden shift in what your body _means_ , the sudden realisation of what everything you've felt and dismissed over the last hour means. The heat flashes. The oversharpened senses. The breathless feeling of that last fight.  
Your nerves felt raw then, but now it's like your skin's actually been torn away.  
It comes out of Chrono's mouth, hesitant and trying so visibly to be kind and careful, and it's like you're eleven again, sitting in the overlarge chair at the doctor's office, as she explains everything happening to your body, explains with a flat and seamless smile that it's all natural, really! No need to be scared! Puberty happens to everybody, you're just a little early because of this, but all the changes bring wonderful things once you get used to them! You'll be an adult soon!  
Well, you're scared. The thought, bitter, pulls at the lump in your throat, and you're grateful at least that you can see it, that you can admit it, that you're at least this aware of your own reactions. You haven't always been, and the consequences have been disastrous.  
You don't want anyone to use your own unconscious feelings ever again.  
“Sorry,” he starts, fidgety, “I didn't know how else to tell you—”  
You press the back of your hand to your eyes, to your mouth. You need to get this under control.  
That _he_ would be one of the first to find out makes everything worse. It feels much too personal, much too… real. You're not supposed to get close to him, and in its very essence, the fact that he sensed you is… much too intimate.  
How can you be a figure to rely on rather than a fragile human, when he can sense the workings of your body?  
Knowing he was alpha had been a mere detail before. You'd never put much thought into it; it was just a factor of his genetics. Now, though, it makes everything more complicated.  
It feels like you've failed your mission, already, again, just by letting him know this.  
“… I'm sorry,” you finally grit out. “You shouldn't have seen that.”

You run away. You know him well enough to know that, awkward or not, if you'd stayed to discuss it, if you'd let him see you might need help in any way, he would have put his embarrassment aside and talked to you.  
You don't want to talk about it. Every time you think about it again, the feeling that the last three years have been a dream slams into you again, threatening your sense of reality. You want to scream.  
And yet, you still have a mission. His presence in your life is proof enough of that. You have a mission, and an enemy.  
Reaching the branch again, you force yourself to appear composed to receive a report from one of the staff, and ask not to be bothered for the next couple of hours as you work on things.  
With the door closed, you finally allow yourself to close your eyes, leaning back against it.  
_Why now?_ The timing couldn't have been worse. And there shouldn't have been any reason for it to pick up again so suddenly. Your lifestyle hasn't changed, and you're not under any less stress than you were before. More like the opposite. Why would it suddenly wake now, to forcefully remind you that you were designed to help the human race reproduce at all costs?  
You have no intention of following through. You never have, and never would have even if you hadn't been like this, despite the implicit stereotype you know shapes people's perception of you.  
Compensating. Too scared to face their nature. Too proud to admit what they actually want.  
The archetype isn't exactly rare in fiction. And the resolution, when it isn't tragic, is always the same.  
But you've really never wanted any of it. It isn't pride that stops you from seeking romantic or sexual intimacy. You've just never felt any interest for the clumsy and dramatic romantic games your peers played as teens, or for the sexual material they smuggled about. And after the deletors…  
After the deletors, the idea of someone touching you, the idea of something driving your actions in any way made you feel so sick that you'd have thrown up if you'd ever had enough in your stomach at a time.  
That hasn't changed. _Nothing_ has changed, over the last three years, save for the blissful oblivion you gradually buried the awareness of your nature into. But now, it's back, for whatever reason, and you have to deal with the fact that not only Chrono, not only that journalist, but also possibly several other people present could have noticed the waves of pheromones coming from your treacherous body, the heat making your skin boil, your short breath. Even now, among your coworkers, who knows how many of them could recognise it within seconds of being in the same room as you.  
For over a year now, these people have known you. And now, suddenly, they'll know you as something else.  
You hate it.  
_Calm down_ , you try to tell yourself. _It's just for a few days._  
Just for a few days now. People becoming aware of you still makes you feel sick, but in the long run, it won't matter. You don't plan on sticking around.  
In the few weeks it'll take for your heat to come again, if it's regular, the G Quest will be over. For better or for worse, this whole thing will come to an end. Your fight against Myoujin. Your involvement with Chrono. In a few weeks, you'll be dead or you'll be gone, Myoujin safely apprehended. You trust TRY3 to succeed in their mission.  
And that means that this won't have to happen again. You won't have to deal with displaying that to him again. And as uncomfortable as keeping up a professional relationship with people is when part of you wonders which ones see you as prey, in a few weeks, you'll be free. You won't have to see them again. In the grand scheme of things, their image of you doesn't matter.  
So you could just ignore it. But. If something about your body is changing, you can't afford to ignore it right now. If you collapsed at the crucial moment…  
You're going to have to do what you haven't done in two years.

You sit on a chair across your doctor's desk, and silently wait for the tirade of criticism to stop. You know you'll have to make a chain of promises. You know you won't be able to keep any of them.  
All you need to know is that your apparent return to a heat cycle isn't caused by something new and harmful. The rest is irrelevant.  
“Well,” she finally says with a sigh, “at least if your heat is returning, you might be doing better than before.”  
“You can't find any specific cause?”  
“Not that I can see, no. It's a perfectly normal one, although a little unstable. That's to be expected after such a long dry spell. Are you sexually active?”  
You look away.  
“No.”  
“Have you _been_ active in the last two years?”  
“No. Is it relevant? I said I didn't need birth control.”  
“Well, sexual activity or a strong attraction could be a factor. People in their twenties and over are less sensitive and less prone to triggering it out of cycle, but since you haven't had it in a while…”  
She doesn't need to finish her sentence. Since you haven't had it for a while, you're essentially physiologically a teenager on that front. Great.  
To think you'd been so relieved to leave those wretched years behind you once and for all.  
That being said, the idea is laughable.  
“I haven't had sex _or_ been attracted to anyone,” you confirm with a sigh.  
She eyes you in a way that you suspect isn't completely convinced, but drops the topic.  
“Well, I don't know what triggered it, then. But it's probably a good sign, health-wise. I don't think it's anything dangerous.”  
You nod.  
“What _is_ dangerous is your lifestyle,” she insists again. “I know we live in an age where productivity is the word on everyone's mouth, but you won't be productive if you have to be hospitalised.”  
“I'll be careful.”  
She doesn't seem convinced. Probably because it isn't the first time you've told her that. But you take good enough care of yourself at least that there's no reason to be more forceful about things, and she lets you go, although she does also give you a prescription for vitamins and something to alleviate the symptoms.  
You make yourself go pick them up.

 

The days pass. Eventually, after several feverish days, your heat dissolves, taking with it the hot breathless flashes, the nervousness and the dizziness. You can almost feel like yourself again. Almost.  
A few days later, as Chrono fights Luna Yumizuki at the top of the Dark Zone branch, you're tasked with delivering TRY3 an invitation to the G Quest's Ultimate Stage.  
He wins. They step out of the branch victorious, destiny set in motion. You hand them the card.

Two weeks later, all your preparations in place, you await the start of the Ultimate Stage.  
All your collaborators are in place. Allies and rare friends scattered across the globe, across branches close to you, with FICA, with GIRS, ready to pour all their strength and imagination into one attack, united. The Girs Crisis system running, ready to launch its countdown, boosted with Christopher Lo's help. The security force you hired, all waiting within walking distance of the Main Branch, to be summoned at a moment's notice. In the Branch itself, the paths for everyone to meet each other after the digital attack are already cleared.  
And then there's you and Miwa, monitoring from the GIRS lab that you managed to gain official control of. Kai, Tokura, Katsuragi, ready for the fights that will spearhead the attack on the GIRS system.  
And TRY3.  
You haven't seen them since the day you handed them the invitation, haven't talked to Chrono one on one since the day he guarded your side at the press conference lunch. But seeing them wait in their glass-walled room, a strange feeling comes over you.  
You think it's humility. For all you've wanted to be part of the grand scheme of things since you left Japan in search for a goal, you'd only done it because you wanted so desperately to atone. Before that… you were only clouded by pain.  
But these people, still years younger than you, these teenagers who were still children not so long ago, they're facing this fight like they're already focused on the battle beyond it. Their eyes on the war ahead.  
You've put such a heavy weight on their shoulders, and yet they've taken it with little hesitation, their determination overshadowing that of the adults around them. Where were you at fifteen? Scrambling your way out of a pit of contempt and anonymity, building yourself a skin made of steel, and firmly walking towards a hell of your own making.  
And Chrono… Chrono came from an emptiness that rivals, dwarfs yours. And yet in a mere year he's attained growth that took you half a lifetime to shakily piece together.  
You can only be humbled.  
(But do you have a right to drag them into this, despite their strength and maturity? You still don't know. But it's far too late to stop it; they've become warriors, not just in role but in spirit, in nature. You couldn't stop them now if you tried.)  
You stand not far outside their door, drinking in the calm before the storm. Part of you wants to go in, to encourage them. But what good would it do at this point? Everything is in place, and they know their goal as you know yours. It would be both suspicious and pointless. On the surface, you must keep everything as natural as possible. After all, Myoujin's allies are in the place, too.  
And yet, you can't make yourself leave. Even through the wall, their presence shines like a guiding star, and you cling to it like a lifeline.  
The door opens, out of sight, and your heart catches.  
Footsteps. You know them all too well, now. Even though you don't move from your position, your back against the wall, you feel like your entire being is stripped bare as he walks towards you.  
“Should you be here?” he asks, his chiding gentle despite his gruff voice. “Things are about to start.”  
Caught in the act, once more. And yet, he doesn't seem mad.  
Still, you can't help but argue back. For the sake of clarification.  
“Everything is ready. You don't need to remind me.”  
He hums slightly, walking past you, and your heart beats so hard in your ears that you can barely think.  
“I'm counting on you,” you tell him, unable to hold yourself back. And before he can turn back towards you, you turn away and walk, flee, letting the giddiness of it rise to your heart, to your face, to your mouth.  
“Leave it to me,” he says behind you.  
And your heart soars.  
You may be walking into war, but with him as the vanguard, you feel like you could win any battle, no matter how hopeless.

One by one, TRY3 win their matches. Against Tokura. Against Kai. As Chrono walks onto the stage, you connect your earbud microphone to Mamoru, your main link to the United Sanctury team.  
“Be ready.”  
“We are. The Stride Force levels are already approaching the critical levels.” He pauses. “To think Tokoha could…”  
“They're strong,” you say quietly.  
“… I know.” There's something tense in his voice, but he stays focused, relaying Narumi's words to you. “The final countdown is ready to engage.”  
“Wait until Shindou brings the fight to its climax. I'm counting on all your judgments and Lo's expertise.”  
“Got it.”  
Releasing the communication, you watch, tense, as Chrono and Katsuragi unflip their First Vanguards and ride, the entire arena falling silent with the tension of it.  
It's like every person in the branch can feel the electricity in the air, the storm about to be unleashed, be it the brilliant light of Chrono's fight or the dark clouds of war on the horizon. And watching him stand, his cards suspended above his hand, back straight and shoulders back, feet anchored to the ground, ready to weather the storm, your heart beats, again. Harder, louder.  
But you can't stay and watch. With this last fight the critical moment in your plan, you have to set the last devices, so that Myoujin's allies don't have time to find or remove them. Amplifying the Stride Force they give you is the priority.  
You walk around the arena, your blood electrified, setting up the final pieces of your plan. As they ride, as they fight, Katsuragi and Chrono sink deeper in their image, and around Chrono, you start to see the otherworldly aura that almost reminds you of Psyqualia. But his eyes shine with a light entirely different. As if he was staring further still.  
As he dives into his first stride, Mamoru notifies you that the critical levels are about to be reached.  
You can't wait any longer. You have to hurry back to the control room.  
And then, noise catches your attention.  
Immediately, your instincts flare with nervousness. No one should be roaming the corridors at this time. Yet—it's Kiba's voice, shouting, and you take off at a run. Whatever is happening, you have to stop it.  
You take hold of Kiba before he can deliver another blow. He struggles, and with your head so light, you almost let him go. But years of ingrained reflexes help you maintain your hold.  
“Go back to your seats,” you tell Kiba and Anjou once Shinonome and Chouno have left the area. “Witness the end of Katsuragi and Shindou's fight for yourselves.”  
Their eyes widen, and almost immediately, they're hurrying back to their room.  
You try your hardest to ignore the amused, almost predatory look Shinonome had given you, just before leaving.

When Chrono strides again, you feel the impact of it in your veins even before you see it on the screen.  
“Girs Crisis, countdown!” you hear from the United Sanctuary team.  
_It's the moment of truth._  
“Plan G! All fighters, in position!”  
Your heart won't stop hammering.  
The countdown rings in your ears. Around you, the Stride Force is so thick that you could run your fingers through it. Thirty seconds. The first flickers of the GIRS glitch you've grown so familiar with crackle around your ears. Ten seconds. You ready your FICA, Miwa at your side. Five seconds.  
Chrono blazes, and as he launches his attack, as the GIRS starts dissolving from its overload, from Chrono's very hand breaks a bolt of lightning, its light bathing the entire stadium in white.  
“Girs Crisis, activated!”

The image of it is so strong that you can almost see it without closing your eyes, the rushing energy superimposing itself on the actual picture of the room you're in, of the progress on the monitors. Beyond even your most hopeful expectations, the gathered Stride Force breaks through line after line of defense, overloading every branch of the GIRS system.  
“Shall we give them a hand?”  
You don't need to be told twice. Drawing onto Messiah's power, Messiah's image, you let your prayer envelop you, and dive into the image. And before long, you feel other friends join in, those who pulled you out of your despair years ago. And then Kiba. Anjou.  
Chrono.  
You fight, and you pray.

 

It's in the armoured van taking you from the Branch to the location highlighted by the attack on the GIRS that it finally hits you.  
It's been three hours now since the fights and their excitement have ended. Three hours since the oversaturation of Stride Force in the air was sucked into the GIRS. And yet you're still breathless, your heart still beating fast.  
_This has to be a joke…_  
It's too early. It's too early by at _least_ a week, if not two. How could you have gone into heat _again_ , so soon, and at such a critical moment, too?  
_Forget about it. You have better things to think about, right now._  
You can handle a little dizziness. You can handle the other symptoms. What matters is that you apprehend Myoujin. You can deal with your treacherous body's issues later.  
At least, you tell yourself with a sigh, Chrono doesn't seem to have noticed this time. Or if he has, he's better at hiding it than he has been before. If those present can pretend not to have noticed and you can pretend it's not an issue, then there's no reason for it to come up. It's not relevant. You'll just fulfill your mission.  
And it works. At first, at least. When you reach the facility Myoujin seems to be holed up in, you quickly forget about your physical state, too preoccupied by the fact that scanning your own, personal FICA has given you access. You're high ranking Association staff, sure, but it feels too much like a personal invitation.  
How much does Myoujin actually know? He obviously knew you were up to something, judging by your altercation with Chouno and Shinonome earlier.  
And then you run into lethally armed robots, and any thoughts other than survival and your goal are forgotten altogether.  
It's not until you're suddenly separated, isolated from everyone else in a dark space with only Chrono's breath keeping you company that you're reminded, violently, of the state you're in.  
It takes a little while for your eyes to get used to the darkness. But even in the dark, you can feel him at your side, feel his warmth radiating at you, with much more clarity than all your martial arts training ever gave you.  
_Stop._  
You force yourself to breathe shallowly, swallowing back the long, deep breaths that try to make your body buzz even more. You squeeze your eyes shut, and wrestle control of your own body. Nevermind that blasted attraction, you have to keep him safe.  
You open them again, to his worried face and his bright eyes much too close, staring at you through the parting darkness.  
Your heart beats.  
_… 'attraction'. Attraction. **Shit**._  
It's him. Him who's made your heart beat so strongly with his presence, with his fight. Him who was present, too, last time your body woke up to its nature again.  
_It doesn't make sense! I've never…_  
You've never felt any need or desire to interact with him sexually, not any more than anyone else. And isn't that supposed to be the trigger? Isn't it what this is all about?  
But now that you're faced with it, even if it makes no sense, you can't turn away from the truth.  
He's been your trigger all along.  
“Ibuki? You okay?”  
You swallow. Make yourself nod.  
“I'm fine. Let's keep going.”  
You don't know how he could have triggered this wave in you. But one thing you do know, with absolute certainty.  
He must never, ever know it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so late... I was Very Busy for a while and then the heat wave hit. But camp nano has come and I'll be working on this as well as Pinion, with some oneshots here and there.  
> Anyway thank you for reading <3

**Chrono**

“You're just like your father,” the child who can't be Myoujin but undeniably, obscenely _is_ tells you, a sweet and eerily peaceful smile on his face, “but there's something more to you. It's people like you who shape the course of the world.”  
You try not to shake, not to waiver as you draw your last damage, but everything, from his eyes to his calm voice to the effortless way he crushed you in that last turn as if he'd completely predicted your drive checks the previous turn and had known he didn't need to guard, makes you feel sick, nauseated, like the world is tilting out of axis and shift is giving you motion sickness.  
“Speaking of which,” he adds as you put your damage down. “I think you may have been misled. This does indeed involve you, but not in the way you think.”  
“Huh?”  
“You seem to think that I caused your father's death… but Rive Shindou is very much alive.”  
You stare, the air sucked out of your lungs.  
Your father? Alive? Then what was that void that defined so much of your life? What were the last ten years of your existence, of having to build yourself around that absence?  
You grew up an orphan, and he's _alive_?  
You can't believe it.  
“Of course, Kouji Ibuki, the man you've been cooperating with, is aware of that fact. No, he's more than aware. I have reason to think that it's Rive himself who told him of our connection, and of your potential. It's Rive himself who sent him on this path.”  
_Ibuki?_  
He smiles.  
“You didn't know? I wonder why he could have hidden it from you.” His voice is ripe with implications, and you feel sick again. Nothing you knew feels safe anymore. The worldview that you'd been so sure of, that gave you such determination, now flees and traps you like so much quicksand. “If you truly don't remember anything… you should be careful, Chrono. You are powerful in more ways than one. Some may seek to appropriate that power. And Kouji Ibuki never seems to let you out of his sight.” His smile would feel gentle if it wasn't so chilling.  
You still can't understand it, can't process it. Why would Ibuki lie to you about this? You thought you were starting to understand him rather well; what reason would he have to lie to you about this? Did he think that not knowing your father was alive would make your determination to fight Myoujin stronger?  
But more importantly, if your father _is_ alive, why talk to Ibuki and not _you_?  
You try to remember, to grasp onto whatever memories you could have of him, to _understand_. But right away, pain shoots through your head again, like a warning, or a punishment.  
“Chrono,” Myoujin continues, oblivious to your pain. “I'm only trying to turn this world into a better place. There's no reason for us to be enemies. I have no grudge against you.” You look up, eyes a little blurry. He reaches for you, his smile still as bright as the sunlight filtering through the cherry blossoms. “But if you want to use your power for good… if you truly seek the future… you can come to me.”  
You stay frozen. He turns, peaceful, unthreatened.  
“I'll be waiting.”

 

Finding Ibuki turns out to be easier than you expected. Maybe it's because he feels bad for what you were exposed to during the raid on Myoujin's lab, but Mamoru, when you call him, only shortly hesitates before giving you the information you need.  
“I haven't seen him, but I think your friend Kamui mentioned him coming to Card Capital today. Maybe you'll find him there?”  
Why Kamui would've been talking with Mamoru, you're not sure, but his tone is guarded, and you decide not to push.  
“Thanks, Mamoru. I'll see if he's there. Maybe Kamui has his number.”  
In the end, you don't even need to go that far. As you're making your way to the shop, you catch sight of familiar white hair in the street underneath you.  
“Hey!” You spin and press yourself to the railing, bending over it. “Hey, you!”  
He freezes.  
“I gotta ask you something!”

You sit opposite him at a nearby café, and think that biology really finds ways to have the worst timing always.  
Thankfully, no amount of airborne pheromones or uncomfortable physical reactions could make this situation any more awkward than it already is. And anger is very good at clearing your head.  
You're so angry that you almost feel calm.  
“An elementary school kid came to the Dragon Empire Branch yesterday.”  
You tell him everything. The eerie way he was holding himself, the words that felt at odds with his young age. The self-assured way he talked about destiny.  
The chilling moment when he confirmed that he was, in fact, Ryuzu Myoujin. The same mind in a new body.  
_Sure would be nice if he did the same_ , you think bitterly.  
And yet, it's only a fraction of the story. The bare facts, only what he needs to hear. How could you talk about your feelings? About the sleepless night you spent, trying to even grapple the idea, the concept of your father being alive after all? The nausea that kept coming when his young smile brought back the image of his older face, empty in death, flames licking and biting at his skin?  
Maybe before this, you would have. When you still thought you could get through to him, actually get to know him. But right now, the hurt and anger are twisting your insides so tight that you almost can't bear it, and your head is still ringing with shock, with death, with chilling prophecies and a childhood of lies and the nauseating smell of burning flesh.  
You don't have the will or the energy to take the first step today. If you stretch yourself any thinner, it feels like you'll burst and break. And angry at him or not, shaky with shock or not, he still needs you. The Zodiac Time Beasts still need you. The world you're trying to protect still needs you.  
You can't allow yourself to break.  
“… I'll have to confirm this,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you stop him.  
“Tell me about my father!”  
He tells you. The truth, or at least part of it. You're not sure you can trust him to say enough anymore. But just what you hear is enough to send your head spinning again, and before you know it, you've stood up and grabbed him by the shoulder.  
“Who gave you the right to decide that for me!? This is _my life_ we're talking about. It's not a matter of 'what's relevant intelligence' when you're hiding things from me about _myself_!”  
His eyes widen, still fixed on yours, and it almost feels like _fear_ , but you can't hold back the roaring anger that rises in you and dulls the outside world, the hurt still biting at your stomach.  
“You're the one who asked for my help! And I thought—I want to trust you, but then you just—you keep— _stop hiding shit from me!_ If you want me to help then stop keeping me out of the loop! How the hell am I supposed to trust you?”  
You breathe through your teeth, breath shuddering, and reel yourself back in as much as you can. You don't want to explode like this. It won't help.  
And as you swallow, he looks away, and down, and you finally take proper notice of how he's holding himself.  
His clenched, white hands, tense on his thighs. His rigid back. The curtain of hair that didn't fall fast enough to completely hide the shame and resignation on his face.  
The slight withdrawing movement that he immediately stopped, as if refusing to remove himself from your assault, from your anger. Like he's awaiting punishment.  
The breath you were swallowing stays stuck in your throat.  
The rage dissipates. You're angry, yes, but something about his reaction is so off, so transparently damaged that it knocks the aggressivity out of you.  
Anger will get you nowhere with him, it seems, because he already expects all of it and more. Because whatever you might throw at him, it seems he's already thrown it at himself. And more importantly…  
More importantly, no matter how resigned to it he is, it feels like he's, on some level, _scared_ of you, and that's something you never want to cause. It makes you sick to think about.  
You don't want to punish him for what he's done wrong. You just want him to actually _talk to you_ instead of clumsily trying to manipulate you into doing things you'd have done anyway.  
You take a deep breath, and squeeze his shoulder, hopefully in a way he'll recognise as not threatening. How do you even get this across? You're not the best at thinking clearly right now. You'd need a _break_ , but you're pretty sure Myoujin won't give you one.  
You're still trying to find the right way to talk to him when his phone rings.  
He looks up at you. Silent, unmoving. And with a jolt to your heart, you realise that he's asking for your permission.  
Breath short, you give the smallest of nods and turn away, letting your arm fall. Your heart won't stop beating.  
There's something about all this that feels uncomfortably wrong, and yet at the same time, it somehow feels right. Like potential. Like something falling into place.  
“Company!?”  
You turn back, jolted out of your thoughts, to his face that's tensing in growing apprehension.  
You were right. It seems Myoujin isn't allowing you any break at all.


End file.
